


Dumpster Fire

by gyromitra



Series: Said and Done verse [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Gabriel should know better, Human incarnation of rabid ratel is a menace, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Sombra is an agent of chaos too, love/hate sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23795407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyromitra/pseuds/gyromitra
Summary: Dumpster tryst. That's it. There's no other way to summarize it.(Off-shoot of Said and Done basing on the idea they didn't exactly reconcile, and that one PF prompt.)
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Series: Said and Done verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1242530
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Dumpster Fire

Gabriel reformed to what felt like an elbow in his neck and a blade in his liver, which, by the virtue of itself, served as a stark reminder that Jack Morrison, contrary to his public image, rarely - if ever - fought in a way that could be considered fair and square.

It had been endearing once. Now, it was far beyond infuriating.

"A trashcan." Any other person would find it impossible to project their voice with their trachea being actively crushed, and Gabriel poured all of his now quite acute resentment into the word.

"I know..." Gabriel was deeply thankful for whatever deity that listened for the gloves, otherwise, that finger in his eye would be tipped with a blunt and bitten nail. "...my dumpsters!"

"That's why you have mac'n'cheese in your hair?"

And there went his knee, with a crack.

"Accidents at work happen," Jack hissed, twisting, and going for the gold. Little adjustment redirected that one to the thigh. It still hurt. Gabriel swore under his breath and went in for the kill. Which, at that moment, consisted of getting his hands on the little shit's neck. The resulting scuffle ended as suddenly as it began, this time in an uncomfortable silence punctuated by the creaking of the contents of the garbage bags under them and heavy breathing.

"Seriously?" Jack wheezed out as Gabriel still had his thumbs pressed into his throat.

"You, of all people," Gabriel articulated with care trying to somehow diffuse the surprisingly viscerally uncomfortable situation he found himself in, even entertaining for a moment ghosting away, "should be well aware it's an autonomous response that has nothing to..."

"Bullshit. Anyone else, yeah, but not yo..." Jack wheezed and croaked when Gabriel cut off his air entirely (on the reflex, honestly, but at least it had done away with the blabbing) - to which Jack reacted by shifting and dragging his thigh deliberately against the front of his trousers. They stared at each other in the darkness illuminated only by the sliver of light getting in through the unsealed crack under the lid of the dumpster, Jack going slightly red in the face due to the lack of oxygen, and Gabriel running equations on the time he had left now.

"Fast one," he ground out easing his hands off Jack's neck.

"Always a fast one with you."

At least, to his relief, the knife was out of his liver as Jack frantically started undoing his own belt. This had to be the new low - and the testament to how his standards took a dramatic nosedive somewhere there in the span of recent years - because dumpster sex had never been on the table before, and even the mouthing off didn't curb his unexpected enthusiasm.

The pant leg somehow hitting him in the face despite there being barely any space between them also reminded him of two facts: out of the two of them, Jack had always been the nimbler one, and he still went commando - which sent a shiver of conflicting emotions down his spine. Because, the possibility of a zip-up mishap and the chafing on the seams were far from enticing any way you spun them.

"Could you shut the fuck up with your internal monologue and fuck me already?" Jack, the little shit he was invariably, hissed, hooking his free leg on his hip. And to no surprise to Gabriel, the nanites were more than happy to take cues from the overexcited lizard brain rendering him already pantsless, which was a thing to look into – later, since Jack's ankles locked behind his back like a vice - god, those legs were deadly on their own

"So, are we..." Gabriel's hand, out of the long-standing instinct, moved to cover his mouth, and the little shit continued to mumble undeterred anyway with a smirk he felt against his palm.

"Shut up," Gabriel hissed, helping himself with the other hand. If he still needed to breathe out of the necessity and not out of the force of the habit, all the air would go out of his lungs with the sheer force the aforementioned legs tensed against his sides trying their best to break half of his ribs. Which spoke volumes because Jack, biting down on his palm now, was more than capable of achieving just that, as one unfortunate accident before did prove it beyond there being any shadow of a doubt, and made for some awkward explaining as to how an injury like that could be acquired. Getting unluckily stuck between two moving tanks wasn't that much of a lie, either, at least according to Gabriel.

After a few shallow thrusts, he felt the rigidity threatening grievous harm morph into fluid tension moving together with him, and gloved fingers dug into his back. The teeth biting into the meat of his palm slackened as he picked up the pace and Gabriel slipped two of his fingers into the burning hot mouth, pressing on the tongue fighting against the intrusion. Jack threw his head back with a guttural whine, exposing what little of his neck peeked above the line of the nanopadding for Gabriel to lean down and graze his lips over the jugular - just about now thinking he could afford to spend a bit more time on this, earlier arrangements be damned.

Especially with the muffled sounds Jack was making around his fingers and how he arched his spine like no-one his age should be able to do comfortably without throwing out their back when Gabriel bit down none too gently above the vein.

Yeah. Fuck prior arrangements.

And as soon as he decided on it, the lid of the dumpster was lifted.

"Guys. Not that I'm judging anyone here, but I'm judging so hard right now that I've never ever judged anyone more in my life before," Sombra enunciated slowly and forcibly.

There had to be, surely, a more embarrassing occurrence than this in his life before because Gabriel adamantly denied the possibility of being discovered having sex in a goddamn trashcan as the nadir of his existence. Didn't help Jack chose this moment to lick his fingers.

He weighed the prospects.

"Ten minutes."

Jack pulled his hand away from his mouth stretching a string of saliva between his lips and Gabriel's fingers - and only then it hit him how fucking unhygienic the whole ordeal was.

"Three to five, tops."

_Little. Fucking. Shit._

No-one caught in flagrante delicto in current circumstances had any fucking business looking so smugly nonplussed.

"Make it fifteen," Gabriel ground out through clenched teeth and shut the lid back with enough force Sombra had to jump back to evade having her hand crushed.

After a seemingly uncoordinated tussle inside and some swearing, the dumpster's legs returned to ever so conspicuously leaving grooves in the dirt. Sombra opened her cigarette case and treated herself to one old-fashioned smoke - lighting it with the tip of her finger.

She would be lying trying to insist this - this namely being finding her co-worker of sorts love-hate banging his old flame of sorts in a garbage container - pinged as anything more than a medium blip on her morbid radar.

There were worse things out there, certainly, and most of them she had on tape.

At the twelve-minute mark out of the promised fifteen, Sombra was halfway into her second cigarette when the shaking was joined by the awful squeaking crescendo of metal on the concrete.

And then, it just stopped. Ah, blessed sil...

The dumpster literally jumped up several centimeters into the air to the accompaniment of an ungodly screeching yowl coming from its depths.

Mere seconds later, former Strike Commander crawled out of the container - falling face-first into the dirt together with his gun - but miraculously somehow managing to pull up his pants mid-flight before the landing. Had to hurt, Sombra mused, extending her hand. Morrison sprung to his feet, deposited the databank into her waiting palm, and immediately took off running down the alleyway, zipping up his fly on the way before going into feet-first slide straight into a basement window, pulling the hatch closed right behind him. Stylish.

Would be ten out of ten, if her enhanced hearing hadn't caught what sounded like him hitting several metal drums. As it was, eight and a half.

The dumpster's lid shot open with a potent clang, letting out an angrily hissing nanite cloud with an obvious grudge.

"Where is he?" Gabriel seethed after he reformed in full gear, shotguns and fingers twitching on the triggers included. She craned her neck at him.

"Who?" As ostentatiously as possible, Sombra put the databank in her pocket. "Also, there's macaroni falling out of your hood."

Gabriel closed his eyes and took a few calming breaths, purely for psychological benefits.

"I hate both of you."


End file.
